Jules wiped down the front counter for the third time that morning, eyes fixed on the door. Mrs. Chen hadn't been in for two weeks. Before that, she'd come every Tuesday and Friday like clockwork, always buying something small — a scarf, a coffee mug, a paperback. The shop needed customers like her, the ones who actually paid. The cottage sat on the corner of the back shelf where Mrs. Chen always browsed. A miniature thing, hand-painted with a thatched roof and tiny windows. She'd picked it up on her last visit, turned it over in her hands, set it down. Then she'd left without buying anything. Jules kept meaning to put it back in stock, but something stopped them each time. Jules locked the shop at noon and walked to Verdant Meadow Square. Mrs. Chen had mentioned the community garden there once, how she volunteered on Thursdays. The square was empty except for wildflowers swaying in the breeze. No one had seen her. Jules asked three people. None of them knew a Mrs. Chen. Back at the shop, Jules placed the cottage on the modern display stand near the window — the beach house setup that caught afternoon light. If Mrs. Chen came back, she'd see it right away. Jules straightened the sign showing the price. Twenty dollars. Enough to keep the lights on for another day. The cottage stayed there, waiting, while Jules watched the door.